August, 2014.

South of Aberdeen, Scotland, United Kingdom.

I hummed along to a song quietly as I let the sink fill with water. There was already a casserole dish in the bottom of the basin, and I quietly added our plates and utensils from dinner. We had figured out a decent system for splitting the chores. Bucky handled breakfast, we ate lunch separately, and I washed after dinner while he slept. It was another inconvenient thing that we did anyway.

The water in the sink became hazy as I worked my way through the dishes. I lost track of whos belonged to who, since some were leftovers from the lunch we had actually ate together. I tried to lift the casserole dish, but the weight of the water held it down. I hauled it out of the water and sent a ceramic mug tumbling out and into the empty side of the sink.

It sounded like someone had taken a baseball bat to a metal pipe. I did my best to quiet the cup and get it out of the way. I began scrubbing the bigger dish and heard someone shuffle into the living room.

"Sorry, Buck. I didn't mean to make so much noise," I told him over my shoulder.

"Who are you?" he asked. It took me a half second longer than usual to realize he was speaking Russian. I lowered the dish and turned around.

His hair was mussed from sleeping, but his head was bowed slightly, forcing him to look up at me. Both hands were clenched into fists, and neither was shaking.

"I'm Gail. You know that," I answered. My fingertips dripped onto the wooden floor. "What's going on, Buck?"

"Why are you here?"

"I live here," I said carefully. I couldn't figure out exactly what was going on. He was speaking Russian and replying to my English. "Why are you here?"

"Where is my target?" he questioned. He looked around the room slowly, from one side to the other. The fireplace to the kitchen and dining table to the small couch shoved in the corner.

"I don't know what your target is, much less where it is," I told him.

"Why am I here?"

"You ran away from Hydra. I'm helping you," I explained. He looked confused for a second and tilted his head to the side by just a millimeter. His right hand relaxed, but his left didn't.

"I got away," he said hoarsely. It came out in heavily accented English, but it was English. I turned my back to him, as hard as it was.

"Yes, you got away. You're in Scotland," I told him further. I slowly reached for a hand towel on the counter and dried off my hands.

"Scotland?" he mimicked. "Do they know I'm here?"

"No," I said. "It's just me and you."

Suddenly, Bucky fell to his knees and stared blankly. He began breathing heavily, and I rushed over to him. He didn't balk when I knelt in front of him, grabbed either side of his face, and forced him to look at me.

"What's going on, Bucky?" I asked again, this time at full volume. Whatever state he had been in, he was out of it now.

"I don't know," he whispered. "I heard a noise."

"That was me. I dropped something in the sink," I supplied for him. "What do you remember?"

"I don't know," he told me. There were tears in his eyes, and he looked panicked. His eyes searched every corner of the room but this time in a panicked rush, not the smooth and calculated sweep his version of Mr. Hyde had just performed. "What did I do?"

He was shaking. I lowered my hands to his shoulders, then his biceps. One was notably colder than the other.

"You came in from the bedroom, and you asked me who I was," I said. "You were speaking Russian and asking about your target."

"I only remember you saying it's just me and you," he clarified. He began to stand up, and I went with him. "What time is it? Do I need to leave yet?"

"You aren't going to the warehouse," I decided. It took a hard shove to get Bucky moving towards the couch, but he sat down without much of an argument. "You can't go anywhere in this state. It could happen again."

I grabbed the keys to the Jeep and began putting my shoes by the door.

"Where are you going?" Bucky asked nervously. He pushed himself off the back of the couch but stopped before going any further.

"I'm going to the warehouse. I'm going to tell Arty you're sick," I said simply. He leaned back with a pout on his face.

"I'm not sick though," he argued pathetically.

"We can call it a lie, but that's what I'm going to tell him. I'll be back soon," I told him. I grabbed my coat to fend off the rain outside and left Bucky on the couch. I nearly ran to the car.

~

The curtains had been drawn by the time I pulled into the gravel we used as a driveway. The sun was starting to set, but I could still see the path cut through the marsh. I carried my single shopping bag in one hand, thankful the rain had stopped. I sat it on the ground outside the door when I came to the house.

Bucky was still on the couch, staring at his hands in his lap.

"That took longer than I expected, sorry," I told him quietly. I felt bad for putting him in such a weird state.

"No, it's fine," he answered.

"You can go back to sleep if you want. You could probably use a few extra hours," I advised.

"You're staying here, right?" he checked quickly.

"I was going to step outside for a little bit, but I'll be around," I promised. "Go to sleep, Buck."

I gave him a pretty good smile, and he hauled himself off the couch. Once he was in the bedroom, I left again. I took my shopping bag and walked to the back of the house. I got as close as I dared to the edge of the cliffs and sat down on a small hillock of very uncomfortable rocks.

The rain had started up again, but it was nothing more than an annoying mist that clung to everything. I pulled out the first beer of the six-pack I had bought and twisted the cap off. I hadn't even thought to get a bottle opener, but I didn't need it. Lucky me.

I had missed beer. It was a very rare treat I afforded myself, and never in large quantities. Any sort of alcohol made my mind fall to pieces if I drank enough. Sometimes, that's what I wanted. Most of the time, though, that was a terrifying prospect.

I drank half the bottle before I knew what I was doing. I was drinking away guilt, because I was a masochist and I was the one who dropped a pan in the sink.

I flipped my hand around on the bottle and slammed it into down into the rocks. The bottle shattered, and it splashed on the side of my pants and shoes. The SHIELD jacket kept all the splatter off my arm. I threw the neck of the bottle over the cliff, but there wasn't a chance in hell I was going to hear if hit the bottom.

"What a waste of a perfectly good drink," Bucky said behind me. I looked over my shoulder and peeked at him from under my hood. "We're definitely going to talk about this."

*

Author's Note:

Slowly but surely I'll get the currently written chapters up onto Wattpad. It's just a matter of proofreading them and moving them from a flash drive.

Thank you for your patience!